


Magnetizing

by drpepper23



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Intense attraction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-10
Packaged: 2018-02-12 15:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2115330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drpepper23/pseuds/drpepper23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian is the realtor, Mickey is the client. What happens when their two worlds collide?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magnetizing

Fucking Mandy, making him come here, and do this shit. Mickey looked up at the brick red building in front of him and squared his shoulders. This was it, his first step toward owing his own home. He could still hear Mandy’s voice in his head, ticking off all the reasons why this was the best thing to do. 

He’d just opened his second restaurant in Downtown Chicago, and it was doing great. Mandy in her unbashful and assertive way, had convinced him that owning his own home was the next logical step. Sighing, he gripped his folder tight in his hand and walked into the offices of Gallagher Realty. 

“Mr. Gallagher will be with you in a moment,” the dark haired man behind the desk told him. Mickey felt like crawling out of his skin, he was so uncomfortable. The office looked like any other, with it's glossy floors, pictures on all the walls, and plants hanging all over the place. 

The man behind the desk looked up and cocked a thumb at the door behind him. “He’s ready for you.” 

Mickey walked in, picking at a small spot on his shirt. This was so far out of his comfort zone, and he’d felt like bolting the moment he’d walked in, but he’d promised Mandy he’d at least look into it, and so here he was. 

Mr. Gallagher’s back was turned, as he riffled through some papers in a file cabinet, in the corner. His was tall, with broad shoulders, and when he turned around, Mickey stopped breathing for a full three seconds. Maybe it was more like he forgot to breath, but either way, Ian fucking Gallagher had stolen his breath away, he guessed there was more to that cliché then he’d originally realized. 

Ian blinked at him twice and cleared his throat, before taking a seat behind his desk. “So, Mr...” Ian looked at the file in front of him and Mickey threw his folder on the desk. 

“Milkovich,” Mickey said, his voice hard and rough. “Got everything you need right here. My bank statements, business invoices, everything I was told to bring.”

Ian cleared his throat again. Mickey watched him closely, as the other man seemed just as uncomfortable as he was. “Have a seat, Mr. Milkovich.”

Mickey sat in front of Ian and resisted the urge to bite on his thumbnail, like he usually did when he got nervous. 

Ian took in a sharp breath and looked up. “You’re the owner of - I like’em sweet – restaurants?”  
Mickey allowed a proud smile to grace his lips. “Yeah, just opened a new one downtown.”

Ian sat back in his seat and smiled. “I know. You made my sister, Debbie, head chef of that one.”

Mickey thought back to the knowing smirk Debbie had had on her face when she’d handed him her brother’s business card, telling him that, Gallagher Realty, could take care of all his needs. He was going to strangle that red head when he got back to the restaurant, no doubt she’d been testing out her match making skills with this one. “She didn’t tell you nothing?” Mickey asked, curious as to just what his scheming little employee had been up to. 

Ian licked his lips, and Mickey’s breath came up short. Fuck. Damn, that tongue and damn Ian, because Mickey could swear the other man was doing that shit on purpose. He adjusted his pants and Ian kept right on talking. “No. She sends me people all the time, but she never mentioned her boss was coming, or that you were so…um…” he cleared his throat again. “Anyway, Mr. Milkovich-”

“Mickey.”

“Right.” Ian was looking at him like he wanted to rip him apart and eat every bit of him, and Mickey felt all the air leave the room. He stared back and they both seemed lost for a few seconds before Ian brought them back to reality. “Right, Mickey, all of this seems to be in order. Exactly what kind of home are you looking for?”

Mickey rolled his eyes, not happy at the sudden crash back to earth. “I don’t fucking know, three bedrooms, probably, because I need an office and an extra room in case one of my brother’s or sister decide to stay over.” He thought for a minute. “Kitchen is the most important. I need it big, and I need it able to hold multiple stoves.” 

Ian was typing, nodding, and staring Mickey in the eye the whole time. Something was happening here. Mickey didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but he had the insane thought, that if him and Ian broke eye contact, the whole fucking world would explode or some stupid ass shit like that. “I can think of three possibilities right off the bat, sure I’ll find more, but… um… we can go look at those three right now, if you’d like.” Ian’s eye’s never left his and Mickey could tell he felt it too. A urge, a pull, something so magnetizing, and so dynamic, that neither could walk away without regretting it for years. Mickey didn’t know how he knew, but he felt it down to his bones. 

Wrapped in some kind of weird mind fog, he sucked in a breath as he stood. “You mean ride in the same car? Together?”

Ian got up and walked until he was directly in front of Mickey, invading his space, and breathing the same breath as him. He looked up from hooded eyes, his voice low and sexy as fuck, when he spoke. “You like to ride, Mickey?” Ian’s eyes held the secrets to all the questions Mickey had ever wanted answered, and fuck if he was letting him get away. 

He grabbed Ian by the back of the neck and pulled him close, their mouths crashing together like a perfect melody. Ian’s lips were warm and soft and he tasted like peanut butter, and wine. What the hell? Fuck it. Mickey could care less about Ian’s weird food choices, as the other man was currently undoing his pants and pulling them off. “You sure as hell know how to make a customer feel relaxed,” he mumbled, as Ian licked on his neck, then bended him over the desk. He dropped to his knees, and Mickey lost all sense of reasoning as the other man parted his cheeks and dove in. 

Mickey closed his eyes and lost himself in the feeling. Ian Gallagher had a talented ass tongue and he sure as fuck knew how to use it. Panting and sweating, Mickey was a second from tumbling over the edge, when Ian stopped, pushed him on top of his desk, and grabbed the lube and condoms from inside the drawer.

Mickey could feel papers, and folders under him, as Ian climbed on top and straddled his hips. “Do you want it?” the redhead asked, and Mickey felt like strangling him for voicing such a dumb ass question. 

“The fuck you think?” he asked, then grabbed Gallagher close, bringing their lips together again.   
Ian smiled smug and beautiful and Mickey knew he was lost forever.

#

"So I gotta get back to work," Mickey said. They sat on the floor, side by side, backs against Ian's desk, shoulders touching. 

Ian puffed on his cigarette and passed it back to Mickey. "Guess we'll look at houses another day then, huh?" 

Ian turned his head until his and Mickey's faces were almost touching. Mickey drew in a breath and bit his bottom lip to keep from biting Ian's. "I guess so," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"So I'll see you..." Mickey let the question trail off. 

And suddenly Ian’s whole demeanor changed. "Tonight," he said slowly and Mickey could swear he saw a look of guilt pass across the other man's face.

Mickey raised an eyebrow. "Whatcha mean tonight?"

Ian stood up and began putting his clothes on. "Got a date tonight, reservations at eight."

Mickey felt as if he'd been doused with a bucket of cold water, as realization dawned on him. "You have fucking reservations, at my fucking restaurant tonight? You want me to cook for you and your fucking date?" Mickey didn't even try to keep the disbelieve out of his voice.

Ian pulled his shirt over his head. "Oh, come on now, Mickey. How the fuck was I suppose to know, huh?"

Mickey snatched his shirt off the floor. "You weren’t.” He pulled his jeans on, followed quickly by his shoes and socks. "Hope you enjoy your fucking meal and try not to choke on nothing. I got a reputation to uphold, you know."

He slammed out the door, and down the hall, not stopping any of the multiple times he heard Ian calling his name. 

#

Ian arrived with his date promptly at eight and Mickey had Cheryl, his best hostess, show them to the VIP table. It was important to him that Ian know he wasn't some chomp he could just push around. His restaurant was one of the best in Chicago and Ian had better fucking know it. People came from miles and miles, just to eat there, and Mickey would be dammed if he’d let Ian treat him like a second-class citizen.

Mickey made sure their every need was attended to, their glasses never even reached half empty, and they were given a complimentary bottle of the best wine he had in stock.

He made sure to cook their food himself, grilled Salmon, baked potato, and asparagus for Ian, and baked chicken breast with steamed broccoli, and roasted red potatoes, for his fucking date.

Mickey sent out two complimentary house salads with his own brand of dressing on top. Fuck Ian for thinking he wasn’t good enough, he didn't need any redheaded jerks making him feel bad about himself.

He watched them the whole time, laughing, smiling, and enjoying their food. Who the fuck did Ian think he was? Thinking he could just shown up at Mickey's restaurant and rub his face in that shit.

He waited until they were halfway through their meal before he approached the table. "Having a good time?" He asked. His eyes dead set on Ian.

Ian pinned him with a stare that was so delicious and so sensual, that he almost came right there. He looked Mickey up and down, slow and easy, while his tongue licked invitingly over his bottom lip. "Everything was great. But, I expected no less from you."

Mickey cocked his head to the side and pulled at the strings on his apron. "You sure about that?"

Ian racked him over. "Yeah, I'm sure about that,” he answered softy.

Their eyes locked and the sounds of the restaurant, the smell of the food, and everything else, seem to fade away, until it was just the two of them staring into each other eyes, sayings things and communicating feelings, that they would never put voice too. 

Mickey looked at Ian's date, who was watching Ian with unguarded eyes. Fuck it. He snatched Ian to his feet and slammed their lips together. It was quick, it was hard, and a second later Mickey was high tailing it out of there, making his way to his office. 

He felt a hand grab his arm and spin him around. Ian grabbed him by the face, pushing him against a wall and tongue kissing the fuck out of him. "What about your date?” Mickey asked between breaths.  
"Fuck him, Ian said kissing him even harder. “ I'm where I wanna be.”

#

Five months later saw Mickey closing the deal on his new home and Ian taking him out to celebrate.   
"And can we please make it through this meal without you criticizing the food, the wait staff, the chef-"  
"What can I get you guys?"

They looked up to see their waitress smiling down at them. Ian held his breath as Mickey began to speak.

"I want Chicken Alfredo. Make sure they cook the noodles to the tooth. I don't like them soggy. The sauce needs to be made with potter's butter, the sweet kind, none of that fake shit. Use equal parts milk and cream, make sure the cream is fresh, that shit spoils easily. Oh, also, make sure they grill the chicken instead of baking or frying it. As for the-"

"Mickey." Ian’s voice was half amused and half strained.

He looked up to see the other man pinning him with an incredulous stare. "What?" He asked the redhead.

Ian turned to the waitress. "Can you give us a sec?" He turned back to Mickey after she walked away. "You're a fucking snob."

Mickey blanched. Never in his life had someone used that word to describe him. "How the fuck does me wanting you to get your money's worth, make me a fucking snob? I like good food. The fuck is wrong with that?"

Ian shook his head, yet his eyes danced. "A fucking food snob, that's what you are."

Mickey laughed. He had the strangest urge to reach out and grab Ian's hand, but picked up the wine list instead. "Whatever, man, liking what I like, don't make me a snob." He looked from under his eyelids to see Ian smiling brightly at him. "What?" 

Ian's answer was to get up and lean across the table, placing his hands on either side to brace himself. He kissed Mickey long and deep, once again stealing his breath away, before sitting back down, with a smug, satisfied look on his face. 

"And I wouldn't take you any other way."

Mickey exhaled deeply, then reached out and tangled Ian's hand with his own. "Yeah, well, next time, I'm picking the fucking restaurant."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
